Cold Blood
by purplepagoda
Summary: The aftermath of Mac's run in with Sadik. Can she live with the thought of taking someone's life in cold blood, or will it destroy her? Will the truth drive her to drink again? Rated T for later chapters.


The bedroom of her Georgetown apartment is dark. Her curtains are drawn, and more than anything she just wants the world to leave her alone. She wishes that she could just sink into oblivion. She lies on the bed, on top of the covers. Her body is situated on the center of the bed. She hugs her knees to her chest. She finds herself lying in a ball. She feels small, and helpless. She is so emotionally drained that she can't even cry. She lies there with her eyes open. She stares blankly at the wall as the seconds tick by. She wishes that she could forget. She prays that she'll fall asleep, and when she awakens all of this will just be a dream. She tries to push the events of the day to the back of her mind, somewhere out of her reach. The day plays back one frame at a time. It seems as if it is playing in slow motion, just another way to torture her.

* * *

><p><em>She exits the bathroom, and finds him sitting on the bed, staring at her. She walks past him, pretending not to notice. She feels his hand wrap around her arm. He rises from the bed to greet her. She looks him in the eyes with a sense of willful disobedience. She opens her mouth to talk, but she finds the barrel of his gun pressed to her temple. She feels his stagnant breath against her ear. She does her best to show no fear. <em>

"_Don't scream," Sadik whispers into her ear, "If you scream, you die." She shudders at the thought. _

* * *

><p>She put a bullet in his brain. She killed him, in cold blood out of vengeance. She feels no remorse. She feels no guilt. She only feels emptiness. She feels unfulfilled despite the fact that her mission was a success. She can't even consider the number of lives she's saved. She can only think of allowing her emotions to cloud her judgment. She chastises herself for acting so out of character. <em>You're a marine<em>, she reminds herself. She chides herself for such incongruent behavior.

As she lies in the silence of her room she still feels violated. The thought of him being in her room causes her to cringe. Her chest continues to rise, and fall, but she can't seem to catch her breath. Her back aches, and her head throbs. She can still feel the gunshot residue on her hands. She feels as if her hands are still covered in lead, despite the fact that she has washed them dozens of times. She can still feel his hands on her. She swallows hard, and tries to convince herself that it's not worth losing sleep over. His life is not worth losing sleep over, she reminds herself.

She feels alone. Her room suddenly feels cold. She feels empty inside. She wonders if she's managed to murder her own soul. She feels numb, worse than numb, she feels dead inside. Her mind races, considering her plan of action. Her mind circles back to the same idea again, and again. She thinks of putting a bottle to her mouth, and drinking until she can't remember anymore.

All she wants is warm amber colored liquid to pour until her soul, until her conscience stops screaming at her. Maybe, a little clear beverage on the rocks, with a twist will make her forget. She needs something to take the edge of. Just one drink. _It's never just one drink, Sarah_, she reminds herself.

She sits in her chair, behind her desk. She stares blankly at her computer screen. Despite the fact that it has been months since the incident she finds that her mind travels to it quite often. Most of the time it occurs without warning, and at the most inopportune times. Some would call it PTSD, she refuses to acknowledge it. She refutes the idea of talking about it. Despite Harm's best attempts she fails to open up to him. She can't bring herself to share the details. She can barely focus on the task at hand.

"Mac, did you hear me?"

She looks up from the computer screen, and finds Harm standing in front of her. He wears a white uniform. She notes that his wings look especially shiny today. She glances at him, but fails to maintain eye contact. She exhales, and runs her fingers through her hair. She purses her lips.

"What were you saying?"

"Are you hungry?"

"No."

"I was going to get burgers."

_I haven't felt hungry in months, she tells herself._ "I have a lot of work," she stretches the truth.

"You have to eat."

"Maybe next time," she argues.

"Whatever you are working on can wait," he reassures her.

"I don't want to go," she quashes the idea.

"So if I bring something back you'll eat it?"

"I am not hungry!" As the words fall from her mouth she suddenly how loud she is being. Without a single word Harm takes a step back, and closes her office door. He re-approaches her desk. He stands less than three feet away from her. He glares at her with his arms folded across his chest.

"You have to eat something."

"Don't lecture me," she begs.

"I get that whatever is going on in your head is complicated, as it always is, but for once can you just trust me?"

"I never said that I didn't."

"Mac, please."

"Why don't you ever listen to me?"

"I am trying to hear what you're really saying," he admits.

"Stop trying to read between the lines," she warns, "I told you no. Why can't you just drop it?"

"I'm sorry, I'm just worried about you."

"A burger is going to fix all of that?"

"I'm not the only one who fails to hear what the other party is saying."

She grimaces, clearly not interested in whatever plot he is attempting to carry out.

"I just thought that we could go grab a bite, and have a chance to talk."

"I don't want to talk."

He nods, conceding. He realizes that any further conversation will only prove futile. "You know where to find me when you do."


End file.
